The Prince's Bride
by Obsidian Grey
Summary: An Italian boy in an arranged marriage, his True Love gone missing five years previously. A Spanish swordsman and a Russian giant. A Turkish Prince and a vengeful Count. This is a story of adventure, a story of revenge, chases and escapes, true love and miracles... (The Princess Bride in Hetalia style. Updates once a week.)
1. Chapter 1

Cast List:  
Buttercup - Feliciano Vargas/Italy Veneziano  
Westley - Ludwig Beilschmidt/Germany  
Fezzik - Ivan Braginsky/Russia  
Ingio Montoya - Antonio Fernandez Carriedo/Spain  
Prince Humperdinck - Sadiq Adnan/Turkey  
Miracle Max - Heracles Karpusi/Greece  
Mrs. Max - Gupta Hassan/Egypt  
Son - Peter Kirkland/Sealand  
Mother - Tino Vainamoinen/Finland  
Grandfather - Arthur Kirkland

With guest appearances from Grandpa Rome, Italy Romano, Ukraine, Belarus, Germania, Prussia, and others.

* * *

**Prologue**

Peter sat in his bed, rather huffily, a childish pout on his childish face. He was sick, and being sick was _awful_, and he was really really bored! Pa had told him that he couldn't play videogames for more than two hours at a time because it was bad for him, and then when Peter had turned to Papa, Papa said the same thing! There was a box of colored pencils down by his feet along with crumpled paper. Pa had suggested that he draw, but Peter wasn't any good at drawing so it wasn't fun.

He stopped pouting immediately when there was a knock at the door of his room. Papa peered around the door, and upon seeing that Peter was awake, walked inside.

Papa was short and soft-spoken. He had a gentle smile and longish blond hair. Pa was much more serious and really tall, and didn't speak much to begin with, but Peter loved them both. ...Though he preferred Papa to come in while he was sick instead of Pa. Pa just kind of held him silently, and it was a little bit awkward.

"Hey, Peter," Papa said with that same soft smile.

"Hi, Papa," Peter replied, tilting his head up as Papa felt his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Are you feeling any better?" Papa asked him. Peter just shrugged. "Well, your grandfather is here."

Oh, _no_.

Peter looked up with a growing sense of horror. "Papa, can't you tell him that I'm sick?" He coughed a few times to prove his point.

Papa looked at him knowingly. "Peter, he's here _because _you're sick."

"But he'll pinch my cheek! I hate it when he pinches my cheek. And one time he pretended I didn't exist because he thought it was funny."

Papa sighed. "He doesn't _always _pinch your cheek, Peter, and it was only for a few minutes..."

Peter had been very loud and contradictory that day, though Peter refused to say that out loud. It still hadn't been very nice of Grandpa, though.

He didn't even know how Grandpa was _related_. He didn't look anything like Pa or Papa, and the only thing similar between Peter and Grandpa was their eyebrows. Grandpa was short like Papa, but didn't have the same hair color, and his eyes were bright green and he had lived in England for most of his life so he had a funny accent.

"Hello, lad!" Grandpa walked into the room, a package in his hands and a bright smile on his wrinkled face. With a flourish, he draped his coat over the back of a chair and set the package on Peter's bedside table before pinching his cheek.

Papa fought back a smile and quickly left. Peter huffed and batted Grandpa's hand away.

Grandpa looked at him, nodded a couple times, then held out the package. "Being sick is never any fun, is it? I brought you a special present to make up for it."

Peter's eyes lit up. Presents were _always _good. Always always always. Eagerly, he snatched the package out of his grandfather's hands and tore off the wrapping paper, except...

"A book?"

Grandpa looked at him, taking the book back. "Books are wonderful things, Peter, and this one is particularly special. It's a book that my father used to read to me and my brothers when I was sick, and a book I read to my children when they were sick, and now I'm going to read it to you!"

Peter opened his mouth to ask about Grandpa's kids and brothers, because he really did want to know about how they were actually related, but changed his mind at the last moment. "Does it got any sports in it?"

Grandpa flinched very slightly. "_Have_," he said, in a rather odd tone. Then he blinked, and his voice went back to normal. "And of course it does! It wouldn't be very exciting otherwise. Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants and monsters, chases and escapes, True Love and miracles...!"

Okay. Maybe Grandpa wasn't too wrong about this whole book thing. "...I'll try to stay awake." Peter sat back into the mound of pillows stacked up behind him.

Grandpa raised a very impressive eyebrow. "Oh," he said. "Thank you very much. Very nice of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming."

Peter thought Grandpa was being unnecessarily sarcastic.

"All right, then." Grandpa pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on his fact, then opened the book to the first page. "The Prince's Bride, by S. Morgenstern. Feliciano owned a small farm in the country of Florin..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

_Feliciano's favorite pastimes were riding his horse and tormenting the farm boy that worked there. His name was Ludwig, but Feliciano never called him that. Nothing gave Feliciano as much pleasure as ordering Ludwig around._

_This wasn't because Feliciano was arrogant or thought himself better than the farm boy. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact._

Feliciano didn't really like the farm he owned.

He was an Italian lad of about fifteen. His hair was copper, his skin tan, and he always had a smile on his face. He loved to cook – he could make absolutely anything out of even the scarcest ingredients. He loved to paint as well. The inside of the house he lived in was covered in paintings and sketches and sculptures, and he'd painted the outside of the house (and the barn for the animals, and the fences, and every other paintable surface) with designs and murals all by himself.

Grandpa Roma (that was his grandfather) had finally decided that Feli and Lovi (Lovino, Feliciano's older brother) needed to go out into the world and be successful. He bought them each a plot of land and a house and some basics, then promptly booted them out.

Grandpa Roma was a very nice man, but he could also be very blunt.

Feliciano didn't want to farm, he wanted to _paint_, yet for some reason Grandpa Roma had bought him a farm. It was pretty far away from his old house, too, which made writing and visiting his family difficult. He didn't even know how Lovino was doing. So Feliciano hired another young boy from the closest town to do the farm work for him, and then he could stay inside and paint and draw! Painting and drawing made him very very happy, and the farm boy was willing to do anything Feliciano asked as long as he got paid. The paintings sold well, so Feliciano hoped that he could go back home for a visit soon.

"Ve, farm boy, polish my horse's saddle," he called to the blond without looking up from his sketching. "I was riding down by the river today looking for a good painting spot and it got muddy. It needs to be all shiny by morning so I can go back! I found such a nice place, there's a little rocky outcrop where I can set up my easel, and the view is absolutely gorgeous! It's so very nice..."

"As you wish," the farm boy replied quietly, Feliciano still chattering excitedly about his new discovery.

_As you wish" was all Ludwig ever said to him._

"Ve... Farm boy, could you please fill these buckets with water?" Feliciano set down some buckets near the blond and smiled at him.

The farm boy looked back without blinking, them abruptly knelt down to pick up the buckets. "As you wish."

There was one day that the farm boy was working very late repairing a broken gate out in the horses' paddock, and Feliciano caught him walking down the path back to his village in the light of the setting sun.

"Ve, farm boy!" he called out from the second floor window. The farm boy jumped, startled, before turning around in confusion. "You haven't eaten dinner yet, and it's too dark for you to walk home by yourself! What if bandits caught you? Stay the night, I'll cook extra pasta for dinner!"

The farm boy was very quiet all through dinner, listening to Feliciano talk on and on and on. He thought that his employer was very passionate about what he enjoyed, and while he had been annoyed at first to find that a boy just barely older than him was asking him to run an _entire farm_, he found that he didn't mind so much now. Feliciano was nice, and paid well, and more often than not forgot to give him any tasks to do at all but paid him anyway.

The following morning, he accepted a basket full of food to carry with him on the long walk back to his village, in case he got hungry on the way. Feliciano beamed at him. "Walk safely, farm boy!"

"Ludwig," the farm boy said, then flushed and looked down. "My name. Er, it's Ludwig."

Feliciano, somehow, smiled even wider. "Ve, Ludwig! Such a nice name! Walk safely, Ludwig!"

"As you wish."

_Feliciano was amazed to discover that when Ludwig was saying "As you wish," what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day that he realized he truly loved Ludwig back._

It was a cold day and looked to be an even colder night. Ludwig, cheeks bright red from the cold, had been lugging in armfuls of firewood for the past hour to last Feliciano through the night. Feliciano, meanwhile, was doodling on a scrap of paper while eating his lunch.

"Farm boy!" he said, just as Ludwig was about to leave. Ludwig stopped in the doorway. Feliciano hesitated. "Fetch me that pitcher?"

Ludwig walked back, took the pitcher down from where it was hanging not six inches from Feliciano's head, and handed it to him. "As you wish," he whispered.

That evening, Feliciano was out sitting on the fence staring at the sunset, though he didn't have any art supplies with him for once. He had his chin propped up on one hand and just... sat. His legs dangled idly above the grass.

"Feliciano?" Ludwig jogged up. "I, er. You said you were going to pay me today. And I need to hurry back, I'm supposed to pay the doctor for my grandfather's medicine by tonight..."

Feliciano started in surprise, wobbling on the fence, but then he turned around and smiled at Ludwig. "Ve, of course! Silly me, I forgot... Here!" He pulled a back of coins from his pocket and tossed it to Ludwig, who caught it. "That's for this week."

"Yes. Er, yes."

Feliciano hopped down from the fence and walked to stand next to the other boy. "Isn't the sunset lovely today, Ludwig?"

Ludwig nodded a couple times. "It is. You should paint it."

Feliciano giggled. Actually giggled. "Yes... but I paint sunsets all the time! I feel like everyone in town has one of my sunset paintings. I should paint other things, too!" Then his eyes lit up- not that Ludwig had been staring at his eyes. Well, maybe he had. Not that he would admit it. "Ve, Ludwig, maybe I could draw you!"

Ludwig flushed. "I- er- me?"

"Mm-hm!" Feliciano nodded brightly.

"I- well... sure?"

The answer was worth it. Feliciano made a happy kind of squeak and threw his arms around Ludwig, regardless of the fact that the farm boy was sweaty and covered in dirt from working outside all day. "Ve, thank you!"

And then Ludwig realized Feliciano's face was just a couple inches away from his own-

* * *

"Wait! No, no, no." Peter shook his head. "Are you trying to trick me? Is this a _kissing _book?"

Grandpa looked affronted. "Keep your shirt on, let me read! Ludwig had no money for marriage, spending most of what he earned on keeping his family together and healthy, so he saved enough money to support them for a while, packed his few belongings, and left the farm to seek his fortune across the seas. It was a very emotional time for Feliciano..."

* * *

Feliciano and Ludwig lay underneath the shade of an apple tree, Feliciano curled into the blond's side like a cat.

"Do you really need to leave, Ludwig?"

"I can't marry you when I have no money to speak of." Ludwig turned his head to look at the other. "It's already going to be difficult enough, us getting married, but it would be even harder if we stayed like this. A man marrying the servant who works for him? Scandalous."

"My grandfather wouldn't care, and he's the one who owns the farm. We could sell this place as move back to Italy."

"You wouldn't sell this place. You love this place."

"I'd do it if I could stay with you." Feliciano squeezed his hand. Ludwig flushed.

"Feli..." he said softly. "I'll stay for tonight. My grandfather already knows of my plans. He isn't exactly happy with it, especially with my brother being gone now, but... I'll come back."

Feliciano spent extra time cooking that evening, and the young couple spent the night curled up next to one another on the bed, listening to the sound of each others' heartbeat.

The following morning, Ludwig packed his bags. Feliciano stopped him at the door.

"What if you don't come back?" he asked, trying to fight back tears. "Ludwig, what if I never see you again?"

"Of course you'll see me again." Ludwig's lips curved up in a rare smile.

"But how can you be sure?"

"It's True Love." Ludwig kissed him gently. "I've loved you ever since I started working here, and I promise you, I will come back."

_Ludwig never reached his destination. His ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts, who never left captives alive. When Feliciano got the news that Ludwig had been murdered, he went into his room and shut the door, and for days he neither slept nor ate._

Roma's knees were too old to be making the ride all the way from Italy to Florin, but he did it anyway. Lovino had barged into the house late one night, clutching a letter dated to several weeks ago in his hand (letters took a long time to be delivered; it was clear he had just received it).

"Something's wrong with Feli," he snapped, thrusting the crumpled letter forward. "I can't leave the inn, but when I find out who hurt him I swear I'm going to f-"

"Lovino." Roma had a way of talking that was not loud nor quiet, but commanded attention all the same. "If you wanted me to go and check on him because you could not, all you had to do was ask."

The farm just outside of a quaint little village was absolutely beautiful. Roma had thought the property was nice when he bought it, but now there were wildflowers everywhere and paintings and carvings in abundance. His grandson had truly done well...

"Feli?" he called, knocking on the door to his room. "Feli, are you in there?"

"Leave me alone!" His youngest grandson sounded utterly heartbroken. "Go away!"

Roma knew that tone of voice. It would be best to wait for a little bit. Feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders, he slowly went down the stairs and sat on a stool in the kitchen. There were drawings and paintings tacked up to the walls, sunsets and sprawling fields and a burbling creek in the middle of a forest. Hanging right above the kitchen table where it met the wall was a painting of an apple tree, under which a man was reading. He was shirtless, his boots and pants stained with dirt, as were his hands. There was a hat next to him. Blond hair fell into his eyes.

"That's my grandson."

Roma blinked. A stranger was standing in the doorway. His hair was either a very light blond, or perhaps it was just white with age, for the stranger was also very old. His face was creased with wrinkles, and he walked, stooped over, with a cane.

"That boy," the stranger said again, nodding to the painting. "Our grandsons were betrothed."

_Betrothed? _Feli had not written to him in so long... Lovino's letter from Feli was tearstained and almost illegible, and while he had gathered his grandson had lost someone very close to him, he had no idea...

"I'm sorry for your loss," he finally said.

The other man shook his head, painstakingly hobbling across the room to sit down in a chair. "I'm an old man past my prime, I know death is inevitable. It doesn't make it hurt less, but I cope. Your grandson hasn't learned that yet."

"He's still very young." Roma looked up at the ceiling. "They both were."

"Mm." The man sighed heavily. "I am Aldrich. I live in the village. I can't climb the stairs for myself, but if you get Feliciano to open his door, you can let him know that he's welcome to visit any time."

_Five years later, the main square of Florin City was filled as never before to hear the announcement of the great Prince Sadiq Adnan's bride-to-be._

Feliciano did not want to get married. He had no emotion in his heart beyond a dull sense of emptiness. The farm had fallen to pieces. He wrote regularly to Lovino and Grandpa Roma, but neither of them could spare the time to visit. Things were very busy, apparently.

Feliciano did not want to get married, but when the Prince wanted something, the Prince got it. The King and Queen were very old, now, and it was the Prince that controlled everything behind the scenes, his parents no more than a figurehead.

Feliciano did not want to get married, but here he stood, dressed in clothes finer than he had ever seen in his life, waiting to be presented to the people like some fancy decoration. He could hear the Prince talking from the balcony, his booming voice clearly audible.

"My people, a month from now, our country will have its 500th anniversary! On that sundown, I shall marry a fine man who was once a commoner like yourselves. But perhaps, you will not find him common now. Would you like to meet him?"

The resounding cry of "Yes!" from the people was even louder than the Prince's voice.

"My people... the Prince Feliciano!"

Feliciano walked down a red carpet which had been laid out into the city square. The people bowed.

Aldrich was ill, and had been for several years. The only good thing that Feliciano could foresee from this disgusting marriage was that he might finally have the funds to help his love's only remaining family. He could even hire searchers to find Ludwig's older brother, who had gone missing several years ago.

_Feliciano's emptiness consumed him. Although the law of the land gave Adnan the right to choose who he would marry, Feliciano did not love him. He believed that Adnan did love Feliciano, in a way, but it was a love that bordered on obsession, and Feliciano hated him for it._

_Despite Adnan's reassurance that he would grow to love him, the only joy Feliciano found was in his daily ride._

Feliciano didn't know what to do with such fine clothes. There were half a dozen different outfits for every single occasion imaginable, and riding was no exception. The clothes fit him perfectly, and the horses and the riding gear were the best he had ever seen.

He _hated _it.

Well, not the horse. The horse had done nothing wrong, and it seemed to understand where he wanted to go, even when he did not know himself. Every day, when he went out, he would always wind up in a quiet glade where he would not be disturbed, and it was only there that he felt at peace.

The horse stopped sooner than normal on one day, however. Feliciano blinked in confusion at the three men in front of him. There was a short, stout little bald man, a man with dark brown curls and dark skin and a sword at his side, and a giant who looked as though he could break Feliciano like a twig.

"A word, my good sir!" The short man stepped forward; he spoke with an Italian accent, which was slightly reassuring to Feliciano. It had been so long since he had been home... "We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?"

Feliciano thought back to the village he had lived near and Florin City where he lived now, and shook his head. "No, there is nothing for miles."

The short man grinned. "Then there will be no one to hear you scream!"

For being a giant, the giant moved very fast and very quietly. Feliciano barely had time to draw a breath before he felt a hand around his neck, and then... darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

Vizzini had Ivan tie Feliciano up and put him in the boat, and had Antonio start prepping the boat to set sail.

They were a rather odd group. Vizzini considered himself to be the smartest out of all of them, followed by Antonio, and then Ivan. He was an Italian con man for hire. Antonio was a skilled swordsman and a bit of an alcoholic. Ivan was a giant whom Vizzini had picked up in Siberia and was a lot of an alcoholic. They argued quite frequently – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Antonio or Ivan would say something and Vizzini would yell at them for it. Still, they got their job done and they got paid for doing it...

"What is that you're ripping?" Antonio asked, tilting his head to one side as Vizzini began ripping apart a piece of fabric.

Vizzini didn't look up, but he sounded annoyed. "It's fabric from the uniform of an army officer of Guilder."

Ivan looked confused. "Who is Guilder?"

Now Vizzini did look up, and glared. "The country across the sea, the sworn enemy of Florin!" He finished ripping up the fabric, stuffed some pieces under a part of the saddle like it had been caught there, then slapped the horse on the rear with a shout. It spooked and galloped off into the woods. "When the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make the prince suspect the Guilderians have abducted his love. When he finds his body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed!"

Now Ivan looked horrified. "You never say anything about killing anyone."

"We were hired to help start a war. It's a prestigious line of work, with a long and glorious tradition."

Ivan's face didn't change. "I don't think it's right, killing an innocent boy."

Vizzini froze, then stormed up the gangplank to glare down Ivan. The five-foot man made the seven-foot man shrink backwards.

"Am I going mad, or did the word _think _just come out of your mouth?" the Italian demanded to know, face going red. "You were not hired for your brains, you hippopotamic land mass!"

Antonio raised a hand. "I agree with Ivan."

Vizzini promptly turned on him, and Antonio flinched. "Oh! The _sot _has spoken! What happens to the kid is not your concern. I will kill him! And _never _forget this: when I found you, you were so _slobbering _drunk that you couldn't buy brandy!"

Seeing Antonio cringing slightly, Ivan took a half-step forward, but Vizzini promptly swung around to face him again. "And you! Friendless, brainless, helpless, _hopeless_! Do you want me to send you back to servitude again? Because I will!"

There wasn't a reply.

Vizzini nodded. "I thought so. Prep the ship to set sail, I want to get out of here."

He went down under deck, leaving the two alone save for the unconscious Feliciano.

Antonio swallowed. "Vizzini, he can... fuss."

Ivan reached out to pat the other man on the shoulder, though a gentle pat from Ivan was rather similar to being hit by a large blunt object traveling at high velocity. "Fuss, fuss..." he sighed. "I think he like to scream at us."

Antonio didn't pick up on the fact his friend was trying to cheer him up. "He pays us for this, doesn't he? He helped us. Probably doesn't mean any harm..."

"He's really very short on charm," Ivan agreed, and then Antonio blinked. A faint smile appeared on his face.

"Ivan, you have a great gift for rhyme."

Ivan smiled back widely. "_Da, da_, some of the time."

Vizzini, at the slightest hint of good cheer, stormed back up onto the deck. The ship pushed off from the dock as he did. "Enough of that!" he shouted.

Antonio fought down a laugh. "Ivan, are there rocks ahead?"

Ivan, on the other hand, didn't even bother. "If there are, we all be dead!"

"No more rhymes now, I mean it!" Vizzini roared, face turning red.

Ivan was the sort of person that would take everything the world through at him and more without complaint, but when it came to the harm of someone who he decided he cared about (and those people were few and far between), he grew furious. Antonio had reason to get drunk; Ivan knew his story. He had also been in Antonio's position himself in terms of drinking, so for Vizzini to prod at his friend's weak spot was a disgusting act, in Ivan's mind.

Thus, he grinned, and adjusted the sails. "Anybody want a peanut?"

Vizzini's roar of fury was definitely worth it.

* * *

They sailed across the ocean all through the day and into the night. The water lapped against the sides of the boat, the wind propelled them gently along, and a light fog clung to the surface of the water.

Vizzini had been under deck most of the trip, leaving Antonio and Ivan to do the hard work while he did... whatever. Feliciano had woken up around sunset in absolute silence, and for the better part of an hour he just stared at them with wide, frightened eyes. When it became clear that they didn't intend to hurt him (at least from what he could see, though they knew better), he relaxed a bit, and just watched them in silence.

Antonio and Ivan, on their part, ignored him.

"Really, I don't think Vizzini means what he says," Antonio said.

Ivan shook his head. "You worse than I am."

Vizzini popped up from below deck before they could continue the conversation. Ivan resumed working in silence, steering the boat. Inigo sat on the far end of the boat, away from Vizzini, and Vizzini sat himself right across from Feliciano.

"We'll reach the cliffs by dawn," Vizzini told them all with a grin.

Antonio ignored him, staring intently at the fog behind the boat.

Vizzini frowned. "Why are you doing that?"

"Making sure nobody's following us," Antonio replied, still staring.

"That would be inconceivable," the Italian man scoffed, but Feliciano finally chose that moment to speak up from where he was tied up and sitting on the floor.

"The Prince will catch you, whatever you think to the contrary," he said quietly, though his voice didn't waver. "And when you are, you'll all be hanged."

Vizzini sneered. "Of all the necks on this boat, _Highness_, the one you should be worrying about the most is your own."

Antonio, who had looked over briefly when Feliciano spoke up, resumed looking back out at the fog.

Vizzini glared. "Stop doing that! We can all relax, it's almost over."

"You are sure nobody follow us?" the Spaniard asked.

"As I told you, it would absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, _inconceivable_. No one in Guilder knows what we've done, and no one in Florin could have traveled so far so quickly! Out of curiosity, why do you ask?"

"Because there is ship behind us," Ivan replied from where he was adjusting the sails.

Vizzini looked like he might blow up, a vein pulsing in his forehead. "What?!"

"You tell me to be quiet, so I be quiet, _da_?"

Feliciano had been very quiet since he had woken up. Of course, initially he was terrified, but that had quickly faded into being simply _scared_. Scared was okay, terror was not.

Assessing his options, the first thing that he did was look at the two men on deck. The Spaniard was very slight, slim, but tall compared to Feliciano, and that sword he carried at his side looked very sharp. The giant, on the other hand, was absolutely massive and looked even more massive with him standing on a higher deck and Feliciano lying on the floor.

The Spaniard's hair was dark, brown, and very curly. He had bright green eyes, and wore a mismatched outfit that looked like it had been cobbled together over the course of several months. The giant was blond, and his eyes were violet, and he had a scarf wrapped around his neck. It was a very old scarf, rather dirty, and the edges were tattered and frayed.

They didn't look very impressive, but Feliciano knew that he wouldn't be able to take either of them in a fight.

The bald Italian man, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. The Spaniard and the giant were mostly ignoring him and focusing on their own tasks, so Feliciano could think all he wanted without attracting attention.

He stuck out his foot and dragged his heel backwards, taking a nail which had been lying on deck along with it.

* * *

By that night, just before the argument broke out between his three captors, Feliciano had cut through the ropes around his wrists. When the three were all hurrying to the back of the boat to stare at the ship behind them (and there was indeed a ship behind them, there had been since just after sunset), Feliciano took the opportunity their turned backs represented and dove into the water.

Vizzini spun around at the splash. "Wh-wh-" he stammered, rushing to the side and peering over. "Go in! Get after him!"

"I don't swim," Ivan said, shrugging his massive shoulders.

"I can't carry him _and _me," Antonio pointed out reasonably. He had worked on a boat at one point, so he could swim very well, but carrying another person who would probably be struggling against him was beyond his ability.

Vizzini roared with anger. "Veer left! Left! Left!"

Ivan lumbered over to the sails, and then after a moment, held up his hands with the fingers making two L-shapes to determine which directions his employer meant.

A wailing sound echoed across the water. Vizzini leered over the boat at Feliciano, who was trying to swim quickly toward the boat still in the distance behind it.

"Do you know what that sound is, Highness?" he asked. "Those are the shrieking eels! If you don't believe me, just wait! They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh." Feliciano faltered in his swimming, yelped as something brushed past his leg. "If you swim back now, I promise that no harm will come to you. I doubt you'll get such an offer from the eels!"

Feliciano turned to look at the ship in the far distance, at Vizzini, at the eel charging straight towards him-

* * *

"He doesn't get eaten by the eels, lad," Grandpa said to Peter, who realized that he was staring intently at the book.

"H-Huh?"

"The eel doesn't get him, there's no need to worry." Grandpa smiled kindly at him. "I'm explaining because you look nervous."

"I'm not nervous!" Peter said quickly. "I- I'm _concerned_, but I'm not nervous, that's not the same thing."

* * *

While Vizzini was talking, Ivan had steered the boat around and got it close enough that he could lean over, punch the eel away from Feliciano, and grab him by the back of his jacket and pull him out of the water.

"Put him down, just put him down," Vizzini muttered, walking away in disgust.

"I think he's getting closer," Antonio commented, having resumed staring back across the water when he saw Feliciano was safely back in the boat.

"He's no concern of ours!" Vizzini snapped. "Sail on!" Then he turned to look at Feliciano, now lying shivering on the deck. "I suppose you think you're brave, don't you?" he sneered.

Feliciano was not very brave at all. He didn't like fighting unless he absolutely had to, and he didn't like arguing, and he didn't like conflict. He just wanted to stay on his quiet little farm and paint... But this man was an evil man, and Feliciano tilted his chin up defiantly. "Only compared to some!"

They sailed through the night and into morning. The mysterious ship was still trailing behind them, much closer this time, but in front of them was their apparent destination. Vizzini was grinning and chuckling to himself in a manner that made Ivan look sane even at his worst, and Antonio did his best to ignore his boss.

"Look!" he said instead. "He's right on top of us! I wonder if he's using the same wind we are using."

"Whoever he is, he's too late!" Vizzini cackled. "See? The Cliffs of Insanity!"

He pointed wildly in front of them. Feliciano peered over the edge of the boat to look at the very high cliffs which led to the outskirts of Florin and eventually met with Guilder, and swallowed nervously.

"Hurry up!" Vizzini shouted. "Move the thing! And that other thing! Move it!"

Antonio rolled his eyes. Vizzini had never sailed a day in his life...

Docking the boat was relatively simple, at least for Antonio and Ivan. Feliciano remained motionless as Ivan picked him up like a ragdoll and carried him onto the shore.

Vizzini smiled. "Only Ivan is strong enough to go up our way," he announced, nodding to a rope dangling from very far down from the top of the Cliffs. "He'll have to sail around for hours until he finds a harbor."

Ivan slipped Feliciano into a strange sort of halter that the giant had around his waist. Antonio followed, clinging to Ivan's other side, and Vizzini wrapped his arms around Ivan's neck from the back. The giant then proceeded to climb the rope, hand over hand, slowly and steadily upwards.

Antonio peered down at the water below. "He's climbing the rope," he said as the owner of the sailboat, a masked man dressed in black, hopped from a rowboat onto the dock and began going hand over hand up the rope after them. "And he's gaining on us."

"Inconceivable!" Vizzini cried, almost directly into Ivan's ear. The giant grunted, but said nothing. "Faster!"

"I _am _going faster," Ivan pointed out.

"You were supposed to be this colossus!" Vizzini shrieked. "You were this great legendary thing, and yet he gains!"

"I'm carrying four people," Ivan replied, though he did try and go faster. He wouldn't mind very much if the man caught up with them and Vizzini fell, but if the man caught up with them they would almost certainly _all _wind up falling. Antonio and this prince fellow hadn't done anything wrong. "He's only got himself."

"I do not accept excuses!" Vizzini raved. "I'm just going to have to find myself a new giant, that's all!"

"Oh, don't say that, Vizzini..."

"Did I make it clear that your job is at stake?!"

Ivan grunted, now fairly sure he was deaf in one ear, and tried to go even faster. The top was in sight, however, and Antonio scrambled nimbly upward, taking Feliciano first by the hand and helping him over the edge, then Vizzini. Ivan, now back to his normal center of balance, heaved himself over just as Vizzini sawed through the rope they had just climbed with his knife.

Antonio raised an eyebrow. Ivan nodded. It wasn't often that someone had a strength level with him, but this man was coming close; he had grabbed onto the vertical cliff face and was clinging on for dear life. "He's got very good arms."

Vizzini had turned bright red. "He didn't fall? Inconceivable!"

"You keep using that word." Antonio looked over at his employer, rather annoyed. "I do not think it means what you think it means." Then he peered back over the edge of the cliff, and his eyes widened. "_Dios mio! _He climbs!"

"Whoever he is, he's obviously seen us with the prince and must therefore die." Vizzini shrugged. "You, carry him."

Ivan sighed and picked Feliciano up as gently as he could.

"We'll head straight for Guilder! You, catch up when he's dead." Vizzini pointed at Antonio. "If he falls, fine. If not, the sword!"

Antonio glanced back at the man, still painstakingly climbing upward. Vizzini had just told him and Ivan that they were hired to start a war. Florin and Guilder were known for their nonstop fighting, much like other European nations, so Antonio hadn't thought much of it. But this Feliciano fellow looked like he was just barely in his twenties, and he found that he was honestly rooting for this man in black.

"I'm going to duel him left-handed!" he announced.

Vizzini whipped around. "You know what a hurry we're in!" he roared.

Antonio shrugged. "Is the only way I can be satisfied. With my right, over too quickly."

Vizzini stalked off in disgust.

Ivan, still carrying Feliciano, looked at his friend with a good deal of concern. "You be careful," the giant told him. "People in masks cannot be trusted."

"I'm waiting!" Vizzini shouted.

Antonio rolled his eyes. "I will be careful. You be careful too, mm?"

"_Da_, no worries."

The three then departed, and Antonio stooped to lean over the edge of the cliffs. "Hello there!" he called with a friendly wave. "Slow going?"

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not very easy!" the masked man called up. "I would appreciate it if you didn't distract me."

The man spoke with a thick accent, much like Antonio and Ivan did, though the accent itself was not from either of their countries. Antonio merely shrugged. "Sorry."

"_Danke_."

"Ah, a German! Hey, I don't suppose you could, ah, speed things up?"

There was a rather exasperated sigh from below. "Well, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do."

"I have some rope up here!" Antonio looked back at the remainder of the rope still tied to the rock, frayed at one end where Vizzini had cut through it. "I don't think you'd accept my help, though, since I am only waiting around here to kill you."

"Mm." The masked man grunted. "That does put a damper on things, doesn't it?"

"I do promise I won't kill you until you reach the top!" Antonio tried. He rather did want the man to reach the top.

"That is nice of you to say, but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait."

Antonio sighed. "I don't like waiting! I could give you my word as a Spaniard?"

"_Nein_. I have met too many Spaniards on the high seas."

"Is there any way you will trust me?"

"_Nein_."

Antonio sighed again, paced around for a bit, then leaned back over. The masked man was not very far from where he had been when Vizzini cut the rope.

"I swear," he called down, in the most serious tone of voice he could muster, "on the soul of my father, Domingo Carriedo, that you will reach the top of this cliff alive."

The masked man froze. Then, slowly, he looked up. "Throw me the rope."

Antonio turned and hurried back to the rock, unlooping the rope from around it and hurrying back before the masked man could blink. He tossed the rope down for the masked man to catch.

The masked man ascended much more quickly with a rope to aid him, and was drawing his sword before he had even finished straightening up. "Thank you."

"We'll- we'll wait until you are ready," Antonio said quickly, shuffling backwards.

The masked man paused, then nodded and sat down heavily, taking off one of his boots and emptying pebbles from it. "Again, thank you."

"I do not mean to pry, but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?"

Antonio's question caught the other man off guard, and he paused, still holding his boot. "...Do you always begin conversations this way?"

Antonio shrugged. He always explained the story to people he asked, in the hopes that one day the six-fingered man might hear it and know that he was coming. "My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man. Was a great sword maker, my father. When the six-fingered man appear and request a special sword, my father take the job." He drew the sword sheathed at his waist and handed it to the masked man, who seemed confused at the turn which the conversation was taking. "He slave a year before he was done."

The masked man looked at the sword, impressed. "I have never seen a sword equal to this."

"Six-fingered man return and demanded it, but at one-tenth his promised price," Antonio continued. "My father refuse. Without a word, the six-fingered man slash him through the heart." Perhaps harsher than he needed to, he sheathed the sword. "My older brother attack the six-fingered man, and he die too. I loved my father and my brother, so naturally I challenge their murderer to a duel. I fail. Six-fingered man leave me alive, but he give me these..."

Antonio turned his head and pointed to two twin scars, thin white lines running down his cheeks.

The masked man looked saddened, though how Antonio felt so confident about the other man's emotions he wasn't sure, considering he wore a mask. "How old were you?"

"I was eleven." Antonio looked at his hands. "When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing, so the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say to him, 'Hello. My name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

"I, too, have lost a brother, though I know not who took him. You have really spent your whole life studying swordplay?"

Antonio nodded. "More of a pursuit than a study, lately. You see, I cannot find this six-fingered man. It has been twenty years now and I am starting to lose confidence... I just work for Vizzini to pay the bills, _si_? It's not a lot of money in revenge."

"I certainly hope you find him someday," the masked man said softly, rising to his feet.

Antonio looked up. "You are ready, then?"

"Whether I am ready or not, you have been more than fair."

Antonio got to his feet and drew his sword. With luck, he would be able to play a convincing battle and flee, leaving this masked man to pursue Feliciano. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you."

"You seem a decent fellow," the masked man agreed. "I hate to die."

Antonio raised his sword. "Begin."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

The fight was long, but Antonio did not need to fake any disadvantage against the man.

His first three thrusts were deflected and dodged; the masked man's feet did not move. The masked man responded with three stabs of his sword, all of which Antonio dodged in much the same way.

The Cliffs of Insanity had once been part of a kingdom long dead. They had received their name because said kingdom would execute people by throwing them over the edge into the water below. The screams often drove their executioners insane.

...There were some odd facts Antonio really wished he didn't know.

Now, the stone buildings which had once stood there had crumbled into ruins, leaving the odd staircase and higher platform standing on a flat dirt plain, and the two thrust and parried back and forth, slowly moving up away from the ground and back from the cliff face.

"You are using Bonetti's defense against me, ah?" Antonio cried, recognizing the fighting style.

The masked man gave a slight shrug, twitching his shoulders up. "I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain."

"Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro."

"Naturally," the masked man agreed. "However, I find that Thibault cancels Capo Ferro."

He jumped back off the rock ledge they had climbed to back to the ground.

"Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa," Antonio grinned, leaping after him, "which I have!" As though a switch had been flipped, the battle suddenly became much more difficult. Antonio found himself struggling to block, and they began moving up a crumbling staircase. "You are amazing!"

"I have worked hard to become so."

"You are better than I am."

The statement, while clearly true (at least while Antonio fought left-handed), seemed to throw the masked man. "Then why are you smiling?"

"Because I know something you do not!" The masked man just looked at him. "I am not left-handed."

For a moment, it seemed like he might gain the upper hand, forcing the masked man back a step with each blow.

"You're amazing!"

"After twenty years of study, I would certainly hope so," Antonio agreed. No one ever said he was modest.

"Thought I am afraid I have not been entirely honest with you. I am not left-handed either."

From there, it was a lost cause. Antonio's sword was knocked from his hand, and he dropped back onto the ground, scuttling away from the swordpoint edging closer. This man... this man! Whoever he was, he was _very _good. His lungs were desperate for air, and he doubted he would be able to pick up his sword even if it was in his hands. "Who are you?" he gasped.

The masked man shrugged. "Unimportant."

"But I must know!"

"Get used to disappointment."

Well, it had been worth a shot. "Okay." He dropped to his knees in surrender, letting his eyes flutter shut. "Kill me quickly."

The masked mat was standing behind Antonio, and for a moment he didn't reply. "I would as soon destroy a stained glass window as an artist like yourself," he finally stated, rather calmly for what Antonio expected to happen. "But I cannot have you follow me, either."

And then there was a sharp pain in the back of Antonio's head, and then he knew nothing at all.

The masked man sheathed his sword, then picked up the sword which Domingo Carriedo had made and set it down next to Antonio. "Please understand that I hold you in the highest respect," he said with a nod. "But I have things I need to be doing."

* * *

Ivan glanced over his shoulder several times as he walked, carrying Feliciano over his shoulder, in the hopes that he might see Antonio coming to catch up with them. All of these times that he looked back, the path and the hills were completely remote. Then, he looked back, and there was a masked figure rushing toward them, far in the distance, but growing steadily closer.

He intended to say something to his employer, but Vizzini picked up on the break in his step and whipped around.

"Inconceivable!" the man roared, and Ivan sighed. "Give him to me! Catch up with us quickly." He tugged Feliciano out of Ivan's arms, the young boy tripping and falling at the sudden movement, and started off.

"What do I do?"

"Finish him, finish him! Finish him your way!"

Ivan looked down at his feet, lips twisted slightly, then looked back up. "What way is my way?"

Vizzini turned and glared. "Pick up one of those rocks, get behind the boulder. In a few minutes the man in black is going to come running around the bend. The minute his _head _is in view, hit it with the rock!"

Then he left, and Ivan stood by himself on a hill littered with small boulders.

Ivan began working with Vizzini because he needed money. He once worked in Siberia with his sisters, where it was very cold, and their house and clothes were not very warm. When the opportunity came for better money, he took it, but his sisters had to stay behind, and Ivan hadn't been able to go back to them yet like he had promised.

Working with Vizzini had not brought him a lot of money, and he didn't even like the man. He didn't like killing, either, but the only reason Antonio wouldn't be rushing to catch up with them would be because he was dead, and that meant the masked man had killed Antonio.

Ivan had liked Antonio, and he could not let himself die because he still had to go back to his sisters. So, rather reluctantly, he picked up a small boulder (heavy to most, rather light to him) and went to hide behind a boulder.

Not long later he heard footsteps, first coming at a very rapid pace, then slowing down to something more moderate. Ivan, when the footsteps had grown very close, threw the rock in his hand.

And missed, of course. Throwing a rock at someone without them knowing you were there was not very sportsmanlike at all, and Ivan believed in a fair fight.

The masked man drew his sword.

"I do that on purpose," Ivan told the masked man. "I not have to miss."

"...I believe you," the masked man said after a pause. He knew that if Ivan had wanted him dead, he would be dead. "What now?"

"We face each other properly." Ivan held up his hands. "No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone."

The masked man frowned. "You won't pick up more rocks, and I will put down my sword, and we will kill each other like civilized people?"

Ivan nudged a rock with his toe. "I could kill you now, _da_?"

"The odds are in your favor at hand fighting," the man pointed out, but he set his sword down on the ground all the same.

"Not my fault I am biggest and strongest. I don't even exercise!"

It was true, to a point. He had not always been the biggest and strongest; he and his sisters did not have very much food growing up, so he had not been very healthy. Still, he was a _giant_, so even that disadvantage had faded in time.

The masked man charged straight at Ivan, planting his shoulder directly into his gut.

Ivan blinked.

The masked man stumbled back, grunting at the impact. Then he charged again, this time wrapping his arms around Ivan's waist in an attempt to overbalance him.

Ivan took a couple steps backward, slowly and deliberately to make sure the masked man didn't fall over.

"What _is _this" the masked man demanded.

"I want you to feel you do well!" Ivan replied cheerfully. "Not fun to die embarrassed."

Embarrassment was certainly not fun at all.

Ivan swiped at the masked man, but the other was very quick and light on his feet, and rolled away before his fist could back contact. "Ah! You are fast."

"Yes," the masked man agreed, dodging another swing.

"Why do you wear mask? Were you burned by acid?" Two more swipes; neither made contact.

"_Nein_, but they are very comfortable. Everyone will be wearing them in the future." Swipe. The masked man rolled again, ducking underneath Ivan's fist and leaping onto his back, wrapping his arms around Ivan's neck. The Russian giant promptly walked backwards into a boulder; the masked man grunted, but didn't let go.

"I just realize why you give me so much trouble," Ivan said casually.

"And why is that?"

"I haven't fought just one person in long time. Been fighting groups instead! Battle gangs for local charities, _da_?" He walked backwards into another rock. "Last time I fight just one person it was loud farm boy with glasses. Stronger than he looked, _da_, _da_..."

"And why does that make-" Ivan walked backward into a rock for a third time, knocking the breath out of the masked man. "...a difference?"

"Well, you use different moves when fighting ten people than when you only worry... about..."

Was his vision going black?

"...one."

Indeed it was.

The masked man hopped off of Ivan's back as the giant toppled to the ground, unconscious. Carefully, he rolled the giant over and listened for a heartbeat, and upon finding one, nodded in satisfaction and got up to his feet.

"Your friend will find you when he shows up," he stated. "And I imagine you will have an awful headache by then. In the meantime, rest well and dream of... er, large women."

* * *

Feliciano couldn't see.

The Spaniard Antonio hadn't been very mean to him. Feliciano didn't _trust _him, of course, but Antonio had not been cruel to him in the time he was held captive. Ivan was really scary, but then again... then again, Ludwig had been scary sometimes, too. He was so terribly _serious _when Feliciano first met him, and he almost never smiled, and...

"Cry all you like, it won't help you now, Prince!"

_Bastardo_. If his brother Lovino were here, he'd be cursing Vizzini out as a disgrace to the country. Feliciano just stayed silent.

Ivan was really scary, but he was gentle. He hadn't hurt Feliciano at all.

It was Vizzini who was the scary one, the bad one. Feliciano was more scared on his own with one very short man then he had been when he was with three, the other two being a master swordsman and a giant.

Vizzini pushed him down onto a rock, barked "Sit!" very loudly, and began moving around. Feliciano wasn't sure what he was doing, but he never moved very far, and therefore the captive Italian just tried to keep his breathing steady.

He missed Grandpa Roma. He missed his brother, for all that the older man swore and cursed. He missed his farm and his horse. Oh, he just wanted to be home again!

Within a short amount of time, Feliciano heard footsteps, and he could also hear the smirk in Vizzini's voice when he spoke.

"So it is down to you, and it is down to me." There was a pause. "If you wish him dead, by all means, keep moving forward."

Something cold and sharp was suddenly pressed against Feliciano's through, and a hand roughly grabbed his hair to tilt his head up, drawing an involuntary yelp.

"Let me explain-" The voice was unfamiliar, with a thick accent that just reminded Feliciano of Ludwig and made everything hurt even more.

The knife Vizzini held dug in to Feliciano's neck. "There's nothing to explain. You're trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen."

"We might reach an arrangement?"

"There will be no arrangement. You're killing him!"

There had been a time when Feliciano had wanted to die, but that time was long past. He had to live to see his grandfather and brother again; he had to live to find Ludwig's missing brother and get help for Ludwig's grandfather; he had to live because it was what Ludwig would have wanted him to do.

"If there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse."

"I'm afraid so," Vizzini agreed. "I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains."

_Oh, shut up_, Feliciano thought. _You don't even know how to sail a ship. My Ludwig knew how to do that._

"You're that smart?" the mystery man asked.

"Have you ever heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates?"

"Yes."

"Morons."

_Arrogant._

"Really. In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits."

"For the Prince?" A pause. "To the death?" A pause. "I accept."

The knife left Feliciano's throat, and he felt that he could breathe a little easier.

"Good," the mystery man said. "Then pour the wine." When did Vizzini get wine? He hadn't been carrying any bags with him. Feliciano was tempted to say that it wasn't even good wine, but Vizzini was Italian. It was impossible for an Italian to have bad taste in wine, as his brother once said. "Inhale this, but do not touch."

Feliciano wished he wasn't blindfolded.

"I smell nothing," Vizzini huffed.

"What you do not smell is called Iocane powder," the mystery man said. "It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons known to man."

"Hm!"

There was a long pause, then the sound of something behind set down. Glasses of wine on a table? "Where is the poison? This is our battle of wits. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right and who is dead."

Vizzini laughed. "But it's so simple! All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's? A clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have _counted _on it, so I clearly cannot choose the wine in front of me!"

Feliciano was getting confused.

"You've made your decision then?" came the mystery man's voice.

"Not remotely!" Vizzini cackled. "Because Iocane come from Australia, as _everyone _knows, and Australia is entirely populated by criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you."

"Your intellect is truly dizzying."

Feliciano couldn't tell because of the blindfold, but he was pretty sure the mystery man accompanied his sarcasm with an eye roll. Vizzini didn't seem to notice.

"Wait till I get going!" he shouted. "Where was I?"

_Australia._

"Australia," the mystery man prompted.

"Yes, Australia. And you must have suspected I would have known the powder's origin, so I clearly cannot choose the wine in front of me."

_Are you stalling?_

"You're stalling now."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you!" Vizzini cried. "You've beaten my giant, which means you're exceptionally strong, so you could have put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you, so I clearly cannot chose the wine in front of you. But you've also bested my Spaniard, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I clearly cannot choose the wine in front of me!"

_Be quiet._

"You're trying to trick me into giving something away. It won't work."

"It has worked! You've given everything away!" Vizzini shouted too much. "I know where the poison is!"

"Then make your choice."

"I will, and I choose- what in the world can that be?"

Feliciano tensed; another threat? Was Antonio coming back? Perhaps the mystery man had only knocked Ivan unconscious instead of killing him? Was it the Prince?

"What? Where?" The mystery man sounded confused. "I don't see anything."

"Well, I- I could have sworn I saw something." Vizzini sounded smug. Feliciano got worried. "No matter."

"What's so funny?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. First, let's drink. Me from my glass, and you from yours!"

There was the sound of metal clinking together, like in a toast.

"You guessed wrong," the mystery man said.

"You only think I guessed wrong!" Vizzini shrieked, so loudly that Feliciano jumped. "That's what so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! Ha ha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Russia, but only slightly less well-known is this: never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line! Ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha!" He cackled madly to himself, growing louder and louder, and then suddenly, everything went silent.

Moments later, a heavy thud.

There were hands close to Feliciano's face, and he flinched, but then the blindfold was pulled away and the masked man was directly in front of him. His hair was completely covered, as was the upper part of his face, but he had a small goatee and a pair of startlingly blue eyes.

"Who are you?" Feliciano asked as calmly as he could manage.

"I am no one to be trifled with," the masked man said, cutting through the bonds around Feliciano's hands and feet. "That is all you need to know."

Vizzini was lying dead on the ground, just inches away from Feliciano's food. "It was your cup that was poisoned?"

"They were both poisoned. I spent the last few years building an immunity to Iocane powder."

He grabbed Feliciano's arm and they started to run.

* * *

**Midterms popped up and got in the way of updating. Oops...? Anyway, we're back to weekly updates now. Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

The masked man ran quickly, and Feliciano had trouble keeping up with him. He didn't have much of a choice, however, and they kept going and going until Feliciano was convinced that his legs were going to collapse from underneath him. At that point, the masked man finally let go of his arm and pushed him onto a rock.

"Catch your breath," he said bluntly.

Feliciano looked up at the masked man. Who _was _he? Was he from Guilder? At first he thought it had been a rescue, but this man didn't seem very heroic. "If you release me, whatever you ask for ransom, you'll get. My grandfather is very rich, and the Prince will pay to have me back." He had to make sure Grandpa Roma and his brother Lovino were safe, and he had to make sure Ludwig's grandfather got well again. That had been the plan when he and Ludwig had enough money.

The masked man just laughed. "And what is that worth, a promise? You're very funny, Highness."

"There is no greater hunter than Prince Humperdinck. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day, and he can and will find you."

"You think your dearest love will save you?" the masked man mocked.

Feliciano glared, his face heating up. "I never said that he was my dearest love! But yes, I _do _know that he will save me."

"You admit you do not love your fiance."

"He knows I don't." _He hopes I will eventually, but he knows I don't._

"Are not capable of it, you mean."

_Why that- that-_

Feliciano found he was standing, though he had no recognition of going through the action. His hands were clenched into fists at his side. Ludwig had- he had loved Ludwig, he _still loved him_, and this- this man had the _audacity_\- "I have loved more deeply than a killer like you could ever dream," he spat.

The masked man's eyes flashed. "Where I come from, there are penalties for lying."

He grabbed his arm and started to pull Feliciano along again.

They rushed further on, and Feliciano wished he was barefoot, or at least wearing his farm boots. He normally went barefoot at the farm, though... The clothes he wore now were fine silk and satin, black pants and a red tunic with gold trim. The shoes weren't much better, and they pinched his feet, and he wouldn't be able to run for much longer wearing these shoes...!

The masked man threw him down onto another rock, and sprawled himself out comfortably on the grass. "Rest, Highness."

Now, the Prince thought that Feliciano was stupid. Most people thought Feliciano was stupid, actually. That wasn't _true_, though. He wasn't the best with traditional things, not mathematics or other things like that. He didn't know the first thing about mathematics. But that didn't mean Feliciano didn't think. He loved art and literature, he read constantly and forgot to eat because he was lost in his thoughts. He could make connections that other people missed sometimes, and he had been thinking a lot as the masked man made them run in silence, and he _knew who this man was_, and _oh_, did he _hate _this man!

"I know who you are," he said when he had finally caught his breath, glaring with all the fury he could muster. "You are the Dread Pirate Roberts."

The masked man actually _smiled_, not at all bothered by the accusation. "With pride. How may I be of assistance?"

"Die slowly, then be cut into a thousand pieces so your remains can be fed to the carrion birds."

That startled a laugh out of him. "That isn't very nice, Highness. Why be so angry with me?"

"_What if you don't come back? Ludwig, what if I never see you again?"_

"_Of course you'll see me again."_

"It's possible." The Dread Pirate Roberts didn't seem too concerned about it. "I have killed many people. Who was this _love _you speak of? Another prince, ugly and rich and scaly?"

How _dare_-

"A farm boy." Feliciano refused to let his voice shake. "Poor and perfect. Hard-working and kind, diligent and selfless. His eyes were like the sun at high noon."

"_I promise you, I will come back."_

His eyes were burning. "On the high seas, your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners."

"I cannot afford to make exceptions." Still, the man gave no sign of concern or remorse. "Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey orders."

"You mock my pain!"

"_Life _is pain, highness!" the man roared. There was a pause, filled only with Feliciano's stuttered breaths and the man breathing heavily through his nose, trying to pull his temper back under control. "I remember this farm boy you speak of. Five years ago, yes? Does it bother you to hear?"

"Nothing left in this world can cause me more pain, and that includes your words."

Though that was not quite true; while his thoughts were empty void interspersed with brief images of Ludwig, the Dread Pirate Roberts had the same way of speaking that Ludwig did, though without the kindness and affection. Even his eyes looked similar...

The Dread Pirate Roberts snorted. "He died well. He had a strong soul. He didn't bribe me as you did, just... 'Please,' he said to me. 'Please, I need to live.' And it was the please which caught my attention. I asked him what was so important that he could not die. 'My family needs me,' he said. 'My grandfather and my True Love.' He spoke of a boy who could capture the world in the stroke of a brush, a beautiful smile and everlasting faithfulness. I assume, by your words, that he was speaking of you, but you ought to be thanking me for destroying him before he could find out what you really are."

"And what am I?" Feliciano demanded, rising to his feet.

"Faithfulness, Highness! Enduring, everlasting faithfulness. Tell me, when you found out he was gone, did you marry this prince the same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?"

Lovino hadn't been able to visit, but he had written constantly, his words blunt and awkward and stunted as ever, but he truly meant well. Grandpa Roma had ridden all the way from Italy just to make sure that he was all right. Ludwig's grandfather Aldrich hadn't been able to climb the stairs to Feliciano's room, and Feliciano had not left his room for a very long time, but had insisted that Feliciano come to visit as often as possible.

"You mock me once. Never do it again!" he all but screamed. "I died that day!" The Dread Pirate Roberts looked stunned, but Feliciano didn't bother taking the time to relish the expression. "And you can die too for all I care!"

They were at the top of a ravine. Feliciano had no idea where he was, but he imagined if he just waited here then the Prince would find him eventually. Therefore, he had no qualms about shoving the Dread Pirate Roberts as hard as he could so the man toppled backwards and fell into the ravine.

His words grew fainter the further he fell, but Feliciano could still make them out. "As... you... wish!"

It was like a punch to the guy, and Feliciano felt his knees buckle.

_Fill those buckets with water. Walk safely, Ludwig! Fetch that pitcher?_

"_As you wish."_

"Ludwig," he breathed. "Oh, Ludwig, what have I done?"

And he dove down the hill after him.

* * *

The Prince and a small group of soldiers, all on horseback, watched the two disappear off the top of the raving from a far distance. "He disappeared," the Prince commented idly. "He must have seen us closing in, which would account for his panicking into error. They are heading into the fire swamp."

* * *

Ludwig blinked slowly up at the sky. He was relatively sure that he was lying on his back, though the tumble down the hill had been rather disorienting, and his head was muddled. All he could see was a swath of blue, so he assumed that was the sky, and it would stand to reason that if he could see the sky above him then he was lying on the ground on his back.

He had thought Feliciano would wait for him, the five years that he had been held on board the Dread Pirate Roberts' ship. When he finally had the opportunity to return to Florin, he did, but the farm on which his love lived was empty and there was news in the kingdom that the Prince had taken a bride. A commoner, picked so that the people would feel closer to the royalty. A young man named Feliciano.

When Ludwig had heard the news, told to him by a wizened old woman in the back of a pub in one of Florin's smaller towns, he had nearly smashed his stein of beer on the ground in a fit of rage. Hadn't he lost enough? With no one to support him, his grandfather was surely dead or close to it. His brother had vanished long ago, and Ludwig had lost hope of ever finding him. It wasn't enough to have lost his family, but to find that his true love had given him up for another...? Was his love not enough?

The sky had stopped spinning, and Ludwig pushed himself up into a sitting position. Feliciano might have abandoned him, but he _would _save his love. He made a promise to come back, and Ludwig didn't break his promises. Still, when he had seen Feliciano dressed in fine red silks that could only have come from the palace, looking at Ludwig without recognition, saying that the Prince, such a _wonderful _tracker, would surely find them...

_Did you doubt that I would come back? Has the Prince promised to always return, just as I did? How long did it take you to forget me?_

And then Feliciano had stared at him with a hatred he had never thought the Italian could produce and pushed him down a very steep hill.

Ludwig's mask had fallen off at some point. He wasn't sure where it had gone, though it didn't matter. There was no one left but him and Feliciano, and he no longer had any need to hide himself.

His love was lying on his back not far away, blinking dazedly, and Ludwig crawled over as quickly as he could. "Can you move at all?" he asked quickly, though he couldn't keep himself from returning the smile that blossomed across Feliciano's face, the Italian's eyes lighting up like the sun.

"Move!" Feliciano whispered, pressing shaking finger's to Ludwig's cheek, like he had to be sure that he was there. "You're alive! Oh, Ludwig, if you asked me I would _fly_."

Ludwig pulled Feliciano into his arms, holding him tightly, and Feliciano's fingers curled into the black fabric of Ludwig's shirt. "I told you I would return. I promised. Why didn't you wait for me?"

"I thought you were dead, Ludwig."

"Like that would do anything more than delay me."

Feliciano looked up. "I'll never doubt you again."

"You'll never have a need."

* * *

"No, no, _please_." Peter made a face before taking a bite out of the sandwich Papa had brought in.

"What is it?" Grandpa asked testily.

"They're kissing again! Do we have to hear the kissing part?"

"You might not mind so much someday, you know..."

"Skip to the fire swamp!"

Grandpa frowned at him, but complied.

* * *

_Ludwig and Feliciano raced along the ravine floor._

Ludwig glanced back over his shoulder as they ran, Feliciano's hand in his own. Far away, at the very top of the ravine, was a figure on a horse, almost certainly the Prince and his men, but he was unimportant. When Ludwig smiled, it was rather vindictive. "Your fiance is too late. We will be safely in the fire swamp soon."

Feliciano stuttered to a halt. "Ludwig, that's dangerous! We'll never survive."

"You only say that because no one ever has."

Still holding hands, they slowly walked on, dark trees ahead marking the beginning of the fire swamp. The group under their feet became muddier, the grass on the valley floor shifting into dead leaves and gnarled tree roots.

"Ludwig...?"

"Yes?"

"Shave your goatee. I don't like it."

"The last Dread Pirate Roberts said I'd never be a good seafarer without facial hair."

"You aren't a pirate anymore, Ludwig," Feliciano pointed out.

"...True."

"So you'll shave it?"

"When we get out of here. I don't have a razor with me, just a sword."

Feliciano grinned, and Ludwig knew that he would never tire of seeing that grin. "Wonderful!"

The fire swamp, the deepest parts of it, was dark. The ground was sandy instead of muddy, thick vines hung from the trees like snakes, and everything was eerily quiet. Still, Ludwig didn't hear the low thumping noise coming from the ground until it was very loud, and then an instant later a spurt of flame shot up from the ground beside Feliciano. He shrieked, clapping his hands over his mouth, and his clothes caught aflame.

Ludwig pulled him away from the flame and smothered the fire, feeling his heart racing. "Are you all right?"

Feliciano nodded shakily. "Yes. How long will we be in here for?"

"Not long. This will all be a happy memory, soon." He wrapped an arm around Feliciano's waist as another set of thumping noises sounded, lifting him away from another fire spurt before it had even appeared. "Roberts' ship is anchored just a short walk from the end of the forest."

"I don't understand, though." Feliciano got that expression that he always got whenever he began thinking seriously about something. His eyebrows scrunched together, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "The Dread Pirate Roberts has been terrorizing Florin since I was a very small child, and you disappeared five years ago."

Ludwig picked Feliciano up again to move him away from another flame spurt before replying, then pushed some vines out of the way. "What I said before, about saying "please" when I was captured by Roberts, that was true. I... er, I must have moved him with my descriptions of you, because he said, "All right, Ludwig, I've never had a valet, so you can try it for tonight. I'll probably kill you in the morning." He said that every night for three years, and every day when I wasn't working, I was learning. The other sailors taught me things, fencing and fighting, and somewhere along the line Roberts had me as his first mate."

"Did he still say that he'd probably kill you the next day?"

"Yes. Very often." Ludwig hopped over a root. "But there are things that most people don't know about the Dread Pirate Roberts. He leaves no survivors, but the people he attacks are not particularly good people. The captain of the ship I was taking to the New World was a corrupt man; I just happened to be on the wrong boat at the wrong time. Roberts takes money from the men he believes do not deserve it. And Roberts had grown rich, and wanted to retire, so he took me into his cabin. 'I'm not really the Dread Pirate Roberts,' he said to me."

Feliciano made a confused noise.

"'My name is Al,' he said to me. 'I got the ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts, and you are going to get the ship from me. Actually, the guy before me wasn't Roberts either, he went by Kirkland. The real Dread Pirate Roberts retired fifteen years ago and he's living like a king somewhere in Patagonia.'" Ludwig paused to push another vine out of the way. "He explained that the name was the important thing. The Dread Pirate Alfred wouldn't inspire much fear, and no one would surrender to the Dread Pirate Ludwig. Germans are not exactly known for their naval strength. We docked that day, took on a new crew, and Al stayed on board as first mate for about a month, calling me Roberts. When the crew was convinced, he left for home, and I was called Roberts ever since. And now that we are together, I will take the riches I have acquired and give the ship to someone else, and we can live happily on the farm like we had planned."

Feliciano beamed up at him, stepping from a patch of gravel on top of a log and then back onto a patch of sand, and vanished into the ground.

Ludwig's stomach plummeted. There was little time to think, only to act, but Opa had always said he was the practical one in the family. He grabbed a vine, tugged on it to make sure it would hold, then, still holding to the vine, jumped into the sand.

There was little air, if any, but the pits did not go on forever. The moment he felt an arm around his waist Ludwig began to climb, and the two emerged back into the fire swamp coughing up sand and dirt.

"We'll never get out of here, Ludwig," Feliciano choked out, spitting up sand.

Ludwig wasn't sure if it was his emotions or sand that was making his eyes water, but he preferred to think it was the latter and did his best to sound confident. "What are the three terrors of the fire swamp, Feli?" he asked, helping the other to his feet and brushing sand from his red silk clothes. "The flame spurt; there's a thumping noise preceding each burst, so that can be avoided." His eyes flickered up to the trees behind Feliciano, where a large rodent was snuffling about. "Second, the lightning sand; you found out what that looks like, so that can be avoided as well."

Feliciano frowned. "Ludwig, what about the R.O.U.S.s?"

Not all rodents were carnivorous. Ludwig had a sword with which he could defend them both. And even if these _were _carnivorous rodents, rats and the like were generally scavengers, preferring to go after food already dead as opposed to food that could fight back.

"Rodents Of Unusual Size?" Ludwig shook his head, turning to the direction that would take them to the edge of the woods. "I don't think they exist."

(As it turned out, R.O.U.S.s_ were_ carnivorous and had absolutely no problem attacking things that were alive.)

Feliciano screamed in shock. Ludwig hit the ground with a _thud_, his breath leaving him in a sharp gasp, his sword knocked out of his hand at the impact. Claws dug into his chest, teeth sank into the arm he threw up to protect his face, and the weight of the oversized rat (easily as long as he was tall and no doubt twice as heavy) made it difficult to breathe. The R.O.U.S. snarled, blood dripping off its teeth, and then with surprising agility for something so large made an abrupt turn about to charge toward Feliciano.

The Italian was not particularly strong, and on most days he was not particularly brave, but faced with death by mutant rat he found the courage to snatch up a tree branch and beat it away. The blows didn't deter it for long; it snuffled, turned its head about as it sniffed the air, then went right back toward him.

_Thump-thump-thump_.

"The flames!" Feliciano cried, scrambling up to a higher tree root as a fire spurt erupted close to him. The R.O.U.S. continued to follow.

Ludwig spat a curse in German as he tried to put weight on his injured arm, but levered himself to his feet all the same and grabbed his sword, stabbing at the rodent to distract it.

_Thump-thump-thump._

He leaped back. The rodent leaped after- and was hit by a jet of flame. Squealing in pain, it rolled to the side, no longer focused on killing its prey, and with a jab to the chest with Ludwig's sword, it fell still.

"I- I think I can see the edge of the swamp," Feliciano managed to stutter out, shakily getting down from his root and taking Ludwig by the hand. "Oh, Ludwig, you're hurt! They'll be able to help you on your ship, won't they?"

"I am their captain, of course they will," Ludwig replied stoically. His shirt was torn, the right sleeve held together only by threads now, and blood dripped down from his forearm and shoulder. He was tired and covered in sweat and mud and sand, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for a decade or two, but none of that mattered. Feliciano was here, and nothing else mattered.

They walked out of the swamp holding hands, a lightness in their hearts, and were met by several men on horseback, the Count, and the Prince.

"Surrender!" the Prince snapped, glaring through the mask he so often liked to wear.

Ludwig reluctantly let go of Feliciano's hand to rest his own hand on his sword. "If you wish to surrender to me, my first term is that you drop your weapons."

"You are brave. Do not make yourself a fool."

"We may live in the fire swamp if we so wish. We could live happily there for quiet some time."

"I tell you, surrender!"

"No."

"You _will _surrender!"

"_Nein_. That's 'no' in German."

Behind him, Feliciano watched the exchange with nervous eyes, his gaze flickering back and forth between the man he loved and the man he was supposed to marry. The Count had a worrying expression on his face, a cruel sort of grin trying to hide behind indifference. The Prince was infuriated, and there was a possessiveness in his eyes that made Feliciano want to turn tail and run.

Behind the two, the soldiers on horseback were readying their crossbows.

If Feliciano and Ludwig tried to return to the swamp, they would be dead within seconds.

"I say-"

"_No_. That's no in Italian."

"Will you promise not to hurt him?" Feliciano demanded, and the whole clearing fell silent for a moment.

"What?" the Prince asked with a frown.

"What?" Ludwig asked, turning to stare at Feliciano incredulously.

Feliciano reached over to squeeze Ludwig's hand. "If I return with you, do you promise not to hurt him?"

The Prince's anger was smoothed over with a kind look. "May I live a thousand years and never hunt again."

"He is a sailor on the ship _Revenge_," Feliciano said, not breaking the Prince's gaze as he uttered the name of the Dread Pirate Roberts' ship. "You will return him."

"I swear it will be done," the Prince nodded, and Feliciano missed the whispered conversation between the Prince and the Count as he turned desperately to Ludwig.

"I thought you were dead, Ludwig, and it felt as though my heart had been ripped away from me. If you died when I had it in my power to save you, I could never forgive myself! Ludwig, I-"

The Prince scooped him up onto his horse and rode off with the soldiers, leaving the Count and Ludwig to regard each other in silence.

"Come, sir, we must get you to your ship," the Count said with a false smile and an oily tone. He sounded like the men who Ludwig and Opa had gone to when Gilbert had gone missing and they had described him as albino, like the merchants who sold goods for three times their worth, like the ship captains who Ludwig had robbed under the name of Roberts.

The Count held out a hand, much like a piece offering. Ludwig looked at it, then regarded the Count with an unimpressed expression.

"I do not tolerate lies amongst my crew, and I will not tolerate them here."

The Count just smiled and lowered his hand. Ludwig glanced down at it briefly, then back up to the other's face.

"_My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man."_

"You have six fingers on your right hand," Ludwig said casually, and the Count frowned. "Someone was looking for you."

And then there was only darkness.

* * *

**In response to some reviews...**

**Ludwig gets rid of the goatee eventually, no worries. Also, yes, the farmboy with glasses that Ivan mentioned was a reference to Alfred. Doesn't matter what universe, those two will wind up arguing eventually.**


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter contains description of torture, mentions of suicide, and alcoholism. If these things might be triggering to you, I have a summary of everything written typed out at the end of the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Gilbert was albino.

Gilbert was albino, and it made a lot of people scared. It had even made his parents scared, back when they were still alive. The only two people who hadn't been scared by him were his grandfather and his little brother.

Gilbert was albino, and one day it had gotten him in trouble. He had been blamed for stealing a pouch of money from a royal guard passing through (he hadn't) and then he had been dragged away and then he had been arrested and thrown into some dank hole the arrogant Prince liked to call the Pit of Despair.

Gilbert had been in the Pit for years now. He wasn't sure how many years exactly, but it had been _years_. His hair was tangled and matted, kept tied back in a ponytail with a scrap of cloth. His feet were shackled together, and he was forced to do the bidding of the Prince.

He slept in a room on a cot off of the main area of the Pit. He brought supplies down into the Pit. He kept the Pit clean.

He woke up one morning in the Pit to the Prince glaring down at him. "We have a new prisoner," he stated. "Tend to his wounds and make sure he's healthy for the Machine within the end of the week."

Gilbert's stomach twisted. He knew very well what the Machine could do.

The Prince had left. Gilbert shuffled to his feet and went to draw a bucket of water from the underground spring, then went and found a relatively clean cloth before heading to the table on which the Prince strapped his prisoners.

And stopped cold.

* * *

"_Ludva!" Gilbert jumped on his brother's bed, yanking the covers off the eleven-year-old boy. Ludwig made an upset sound and tried to bury his head underneath his pillow. "Ludva, hey! We're going to the market today, Opa said so! Come on, get up!"_

_Finally, his little brother cracked open one brilliantly blue eye to glare at him. His blond hair fell into his face, so the sight was more endearing than anything else. "Why are you so loud?" he mumbled._

"_Because I'm awesome, obviously! Get dressed, hurry! Come on!"_

_He bounced down the stairs and beamed at his grandfather, who was sitting on the edge of his bed. Opa Aldrich took care of Ludwig and Gilbert since their parents had died, but Opa was also getting old... Gilbert did a lot more of the work these days, and he'd even moved Opa's bed downstairs so that their grandfather wouldn't have to climb up and down the stairs anymore._

"_One would think you are the younger child," Opa said sternly. "Hand me my cane."_

_Opa often sounded stern. Gilbert had figured out how to tell his moods apart through tiny visual cues instead of any inflection in his voice, and he knew know that Opa was simply amused, and maybe a little bit tired._

_Ludwig came downstairs eventually, and the three headed out for the marketplace, Opa carrying the money and Ludwig carrying a basket almost the same size as him. Gilbert gleefully hurried along in front of them, occasionally looping back to tell them to pick up their pace._

_Opa smiled very slightly when he thought neither Ludwig or Gilbert were looking. Gilbert noticed anyway._

* * *

"_Mein Gott, _Ludva..." Gilbert tried to rush forward before tripping over the shackles on his feet and nearly pitching onto his face. He caught himself on the edge of a table and kept going.

His brother was an adult. Grown up. His little baby brother was grown up...

Ludwig had grown up well, unlike Gilbert, who could probably count his own ribs if he could see them underneath the dirt. Ludwig was muscular, his jaw strong, his hair falling into his face just like it had done when he was a little boy. His clothes, though, his clothes were dirty and torn and fraying and his shoulder was covered in blood.

Gilbert wanted to cry.

With shaking hands he set down the bucket of water which, miraculously, he had managed not to drop, dampened the cloth in his hands, and shuffled to his brother's side to start cleaning his shoulder.

The cold water or the pain woke him up. Gilbert wasn't sure which one it was, but Ludwig's eyes opened, and any doubt that Gilbert had as to whether this was _really _his brother vanished, because those eyes had kept him hoping one day he might get out of this Pit.

"Where am I?" Ludwig asked, and Gilbert wanted to cry even more.

_Don't you recognize me?_

"The Pit of Despair," Gilbert replied bitterly. "Ludwig, _Ludva_, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Ludwig's eyes widened. He tried to sit up, but the straps kept him held down. "Gilbert...!"

"The chains are too thick," Gilbert continued, dabbing at his brother's shoulder. His vision was getting hazy, and he blinked several times to clear it. "There's only one way in and one way out, and it's secret. Only the Count and the Prince and I know where it is."

"Gilbert-"

"And I've tried escaping before, Ludva, I've _tried_... I had to get back to you and Opa, but I couldn't. My own chains are too thick, and the Prince melted down the key."

"Gilbert." His brother's voice was sharp, and it startled him so much that he stopped talking. "I had no doubts that the Prince would try to kill me instead of letting me go free. I am... glad to have seen you again before that happens, though."

"He wants me to heal you before he... he breaks you. Not out of some twisted plan to make me watch, I don't think he knows anything about me, but that's what he does to everyone he brings down here."

"Torture?" Ludwig frowned. "I can cope with torture."

Gilbert wished his brother hadn't said that. He didn't want to know why his brother could say that.

"No one withstands The Machine. _Gott_, Ludva..."

Ludwig's hands were chained down, but that didn't mean Gilbert couldn't hold one while he tended to his brother's shoulder.

* * *

Sadiq Adnan watched Feliciano wander the castle with a sad expression on his face. No matter, the boy would come to love him eventually...

The Count came to his side, a curious expression on his face.

"It's my father's failing health that's upsetting him," Adnan stated.

"Of course."

* * *

Feliciano had once waited behind this wall to be presented as Prince, and now he was here to be presented as King.

Not a King with any real power, of course. King Adnan would make all decisions for the both of them. Feliciano had no word of Ludwig, and he had been unable to persuade anyone about searching for Ludwig's brother or getting money for Ludwig's grandfather.

_The King died that very night, and before the following dawn, Feliciano and Adnan were married. And at noon he met his subjects again, this time as their King._

He could hear Adnan's booming voice from the balcony just as before.

"My father's final words were-"

* * *

"Hold it, hold it, Grandpa!"

Tino and Berwald listened with amusement from the hallway as their son protested the way the book was going and Arthur steadfastly refused to give anything away.

"I always loved that book," Tino said happily.

"Mm," Berwald agreed. "'nd Alfred did, 'nd all 'f Arthur's other kids. 'S a good book."

"It's like an extended family tradition!" Tino smiled. "Do you think we should have a family dinner some time? It would be nice, there are a lot of people we haven't seen in a while..."

Berwald privately thought that getting the extended family back together would no doubt end with several things exploding into flame, but Tino looked so happy talking about it that he kept quiet.

* * *

"My father's final words were: 'Love him as I loved her, and there will be joy.' I present to you your King, King Feliciano!"

Feliciano walked down a short carpet into the city square, feeling as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest. The people bowed...

"Boo! Boo!"

There was an old man that refused to bow. His hair was long and tangled and matted and gray with dirt, his hands gnarled and bony, his teeth yellow and his clothes in tatters.

"Why- why are you saying this?" Feliciano stammered.

"_Idiota_!" The ancient man stumbled forward, and Feliciano realized with a shock that it was his brother Lovino. There was fury in his eyes, and his voice dripped with hatred and mockery. "_Idiota_! Grandfather spent the last of his money to send us into the world!"

"Grandpa Roma-"

"I failed! I knew I would fail, but I thought, 'Feli! Feli excels in so many things, surely he will do well!' And here you are, on a throne of lies! You had Love in your hands! You had True Love to save you and you treated it like garbage! _Bastardo! _King of Refuse! Bow down, bow down to the King of Slime, the King of Filth, the King of Putrescence! Filth! _Merda!_"

* * *

Feliciano shot bolt upright in bed with a gasp, his heart hammering in his chest and his bangs plastered with sweat to his forehead.

_It was ten days until the wedding. The King still lived, but Feliciano's nightmares were getting worse._

* * *

"See!" Peter cried. "Didn't I tell you she'd never marry that rotten Humperdinck?"

"Yes, you're very smart, now shut up."

* * *

Feliciano was set to be married in ten days. He hadn't been able to sleep. Prince Adnan wouldn't let him send letters to Lovino or to his grandfather (who had not spent the last of his money to send Feli and Lovi out into the world, so far as Feliciano was aware). His head ached and he felt hollow inside.

He had betrayed his True Love once by sending him away. He did not want to betray his True Love again by marrying another.

"Prince Adnan," he said as strongly as he could muster, walking into one of the Prince's many studies with his chin up and his back straight. The Prince – and the Count, who seemed to follow the Prince around a lot these days – looked up. "I love Ludwig. I always have, ever since we first met, and I always will. If I have to marry you in ten days, I- I will be dead by the morning."

Prince Adnan looked sympathetic. Feliciano had to believe that it was a lie, because if he believed that the Prince truly loved him he might not be able to bring himself to do it. The Prince was infatuated with him, yes, but it was an obsession and Feliciano wouldn't fall for any false endearments. "I could never cause you grief, Feli," he said softly. "Consider the wedding off." Then he turned to the Count. "You, ah, returned this Ludwig to his ship?"

"Yes," the Count said simply.

"Then we will alert him." The Prince rose to his feet and took Feliciano's hands in his own. "Beloved, you must be certain, though. Does he still want you? It was you who did the leaving in the Fire Swamps. And pirates are not known for keeping promises."

Feliciano had done it to save Ludwig's life. He knew Ludwig understood that. "My Ludwig will always come for me!"

The Prince sighed. "...A deal, then. You write four copies of a letter and I send my four fastest ships, one in each direction. The Dread Pirate Roberts is always close to Florin this time of year, so we'll run up the white flag and deliver the message. If Ludwig wants you, I wish you a long and prosperous marriage. If not... consider me an alternative to suicide?"

Had Feliciano been more focused, perhaps he might have realized that the Prince was only acting placating and not concerned, as one should be when their future spouse announced their decision to commit suicide.

As it was, he felt his heart lighten, and he nodded in agreement. He'd write the letter as quickly as possible and give it to the Prince to send out. Ludwig would come back for him!

* * *

The Prince and the Count walked through the forest.

"Your prince is quite the marvelous creature," the Count all but purred. "A trifle plain and simple, but his appeal is undeniable."

"The people are very taken with him," the Prince agreed. "It's odd, but when I hired Vizzini and his men to have him killed on our engagement day, I thought it was very clever. But it will be so much more _moving _when I strangle him on our wedding night! Once Guilder is blamed, the nation will demand that we go to war."

The Count offered a toothy grin and prodded a knot on a nearby tree, which caused a door to open in the side of it. "Oh, the joys of expanding one's empire! Care to come into the Pit? Ludwig has his strength back, so I'm starting him on The Machine tonight."

The Prince gave a lopsided smile. "Vladmir, you know how much I enjoy your work, but I have the country's 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my husband to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I just don't have time!"

"Get some rest," the Count advised. "If you haven't got your health then you haven't got anything."

"Indeed."

The Prince turned, but the Count called out before he could fully finish the action. "That albino wretch you gave me, do you know anything about where he came from?"

The Prince paused. "Erm... One of my soldiers brought it to me, I think, said it stole his coin purse. Thought it would make good work. Why do you ask?"

"He seems rather reluctant to do things nowadays, is all. I theorized he might have relation to Ludwig."

"Doubtful. What family would miss an albino? It was probably homeless when I gave him to you. I imagine it's just getting old."

"I see. Well, as I said, make sure to get some rest."

* * *

Gilbert had been given the task of tying Ludwig onto the cart and hooking him up to The Machine. His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly get the straps secure.

The worst part of it all was that Ludwig didn't even blame him. He just looked at Gilbert like he with this terrible sad smile...

The Machine was a large set of bellows and pistons and pumps attached to a massive waterwheel. Pipes ran off of it to attach to the Count's latest victim, and more pipes and rods ran together into a large numbered scale, with a lever that could move from **0 **at the very bottom to **50 **at the top. Ludwig was hooked in, the cart wheeled right up next to The Machine and the pipes secured around his head and onto his chest and abdomen.

There was no way Gilbert could get out. There was no longer a key for the shackles on his legs, the metal rusted and chafing at his perpetually blistered skin, and there was no way he could move against the Count without the Count seeing him. He had thought and thought and thought but... he _couldn't_.

But Ludva...

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the Count asked as he sat down in his chair. Ludwig glared. "Took me half a lifetime to invent it. I am sure you've discovered my fascination with pain. Look, I'm even writing the definitive work on the subject!" He held up a sheaf of loose parchment. "Because of that I want you to be completely honest about how The Machine makes you feel. I can't have skewed data! This being our first try, I'll use the lowest setting."

Gilbert closed his eyes, but he could hear the water start flowing and the wheel creaking and Ludwig trying desperately not to scream.

"As you know," the Count said, finally moving the lever back to zero, "the concept of the suction pump is centuries old! That's all this is here, except instead of water, I'm sucking life. I just set the dial to one, and I sucked one year of your life away! One day we might go as high as five, but I don't really know what that would do your mind... Tell me, though, how did that make you feel?"

Ludwig whimpered.

The sound broke Gilbert's heart.

"Interesting," the Count said with a smile, and made a note on a new piece of parchment.

* * *

Prince Adnan watched the letters that Feliciano had written burn in the fireplace, smiling slightly. A couch at the door disrupted his reverie, however, and he turned sharply.

"Berkant," he said shortly.

"Sire," said the leader of the Royal Guards.

The Prince motioned for Berkant to come over, and the guardsman knelt next to the Prince's chair so that they might converse in whispers. "As chief enforcer of all Florin, I trust you with this secret," the Prince began in a low tone. "Killers from Guilder are infiltrating the Thieves' Forest and plan to murder Feliciano on our wedding night."

Berkant's eyes grew wide. "My spies have heard nothing of that."

A second knock at the door. Berkant quickly stood and bowed to Feliciano, who was very pale.

"Is there any word from Ludwig?" he asked softly, missing the glance Adnan cast to the fireplace.

"Too soon, my Feli," the Prince said with a charming smile. "You must have patience."

"He'll come for me. He promised."

"Of course."

Feliciano left, Adnan rolled his eyes, and Berkant crouched next to the chair again.

"He will not be murdered," the Prince said fiercely. "On the day of the wedding, I want the Thieves' Forest empty, every inhabitant arrested."

Berkant frowned. "Many of the thieves will resist, sire. My regular enforcers will not be adequate."

"Form a brute squad, then! I want the Thieves' Forest emptied!"

"...It won't be easy, sire."

"Pah! Try ruling an empire."

* * *

_The day of the wedding arrived. The brute squad had their hands full carrying out Adnan's orders._

"Is everybody out?" Berkant asked one soldier.

The soldier made an _eh _sort of face and shrugged. "Almost. There's a Spaniard giving us trouble."

"Well, give him some trouble, then."

* * *

Antonio wasn't really sure where he was. He _thought _he might have been in the Thieves' Forest, but there seemed to be a surprising lack of thieves for this to be their forest, and therefore he might be mistaken.

Vizzini... Vizzini! Bastard. When a job went wrong they were supposed to come back to the Thieves Forest. The job had gone wrong, so here he was, and Vizzini was not. He had no money and now he was out of a job. And he'd just wanted a drink to calm down, that was all... _I will wait for Vizzini! You say to go back to the beginning, so I have! This is where I am. And I stay. No voy a mover._

How much had he drunk?

"Ho, there!"

That was a soldier. That was a very loud soldier.

"I do not budge!" Antonio waved his sword in the vague direction of the soldier. That... was a bottle. Where did his sword go? Ah. It was at his waist. "Keep your 'ho, there' for I do not want it."

"But the Prince gave orders-"

"No! I will not move."

The soldier turned to call for help. "You, brute, come here!"

"I am waiting for Ivan and Vizzini," Antonio said firmly.

"You surely are a meanie."

Ivan figured rhyming would clearly state that he was a friend to Antonio. That was one of the games they had when Vizzini wasn't yelling at them. Antonio, unfortunately, was very drunk (he was a bit of a lightweight, so it didn't take a lot, but it still wasn't good) and picking a fight with one of the royal soldiers while he was drunk would not be a very good idea. At all.

"Hello," Ivan said, picking Antonio up so he couldn't attack anyone.

Antonio blinked at him several times. "It's you."

"True," Ivan agreed, knocking the soldier on the top of the head before he could ask any questions. The man dropped to the ground, out cold. "You do not look good."

Antonio hummed. Ivan wrinkled his nose.

"You don't smell good either."

"Perhaps no! _Estoy bien._"

"_Da_? Okay."

Ivan put Antonio back on his feet, patted him on the shoulder, and let go. Antonio promptly fell over.

...Ivan, from experience, knew how to get rid of a hangover.

* * *

**To Summarize: **Ludwig's brother Gilbert appears at the beginning of the chapter. He works in the Pit of Despair, a torture chamber which the Count controls, and has been held captive there for several years. He knows Ludwig is going to be tortured but cannot do anything about it, knowing there is no way to escape the Pit.

Feliciano grows sadder the closer his wedding day gets, plagued by nightmares. Prince Adnan tells Feliciano he'll send out four copies of a letter on his fastest ships, one in each cardinal direction, and if Ludwig "returns" before their wedding day then he will let Feliciano go. He knows that Ludwig never got back to his ship, however, and burns the letters.

The Count hooks Ludwig up to his device that he calls The Machine. Ivan finds Antonio drunk in the Thieves Forest, the two of them having both returned there after their job went wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

Ludwig gets tortured again in this chapter, but it's only for a short segment. If this bothers you, skip the section immediately after the Prince's line "You would be wise to hold your tongue!" It's all marked by page breaks, so just skip the segment immediately after that.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Ivan and Antonio were reunited. As Ivan nursed his inebriated friend back to health, he told Antonio of Vizzini's death and the existence of the Count, the six-fingered man. Considering Antonio's lifelong search, he handled the news surprisingly well._

Ivan hummed to himself as he spoon-fed Antonio, light broth the only thing that the Spaniard could handle at the moment. He knew too well what drink could do to a person.

When he turned to fill up some buckets of water to help in bringing his friend back to sobriety, Antonio fell face-first into his soup.

The Russian shook his head. "_Nyet, tovarishch. _That is not how you eat soup."

_Ivan took great care in reviving Antonio._

Ivan was alternating between dunking Antonio's head into a bucket of ice water and a bucket of warm water heated over the fireplace, and continued to do so until his friend sprang away, shaking wet hair out of his eyes and sputtering.

"That's enough! Enough! Where is this Count, I want to kill him!"

"With Prince, in castle." Ivan sat down in a chair, which creaked under his weight. "Castle gate is guarded by thirty men."

Antonio spat and kicked one of the buckets, sending water splashing over the side. "How many can you handle?"

"Ten?"

"Leaving twenty for me!" Antonio paused. "I cannot fight twenty men." He sat. "We need someone to strategize. I have no gift for strategy."

"Vizzini is dead," Ivan pointed out.

"No, no, no." Antonio made a face. "I do not like Vizzini, and Vizzini is dead so we no longer need to worry about him. No, I need the man in black!"

Ivan blinked slowly, tilting his head to one side. The mystery man had defeated Ivan, Antonio, and Vizzini, presumably to pursue the captive prince. He didn't know why the man had done so, but it stood to reason that the masked man wouldn't really want to help them, considering they had been the ones to kidnap the prince in the first place. "_Chto_?"

"He bested your strength!" Antonio bounced back to his feet again, ringing the water out of his hair. "He bested me with steel! And Vizzini is dead, so he must have out-thought Vizzini. Whoever can do that can plan my castle assault any day. Come, Ivan!"

"To where?"

"To find the man in black!"

"We do not know where he is," Ivan pointed out, though he was already standing.

"Trifles! Trifles, Ivan, trifles. Do not bother me with trifles! After twenty years, the souls of my father and brother will be at peace. Blood will be spilled tonight!"

* * *

Berkant entered as the Prince was idly sharpening a dagger, his feet propped up on his desk.

"Rise and report," the Prince said, not looking up.

Berkant rose from his bow. "The Thieves' Forest is empty. Thirty men are guarding the castle gate."

"Double it."

"The gate only has one key, sir, a key which I carry-"

"Double it," the Prince repeated sharply, finally looking up at a more tentative pair of footsteps than the leader of the guard. "Ah, my dulcet darling!" He took Feliciano's hands in his own. "Tonight, we marry, and tomorrow we will be escorted to Florin Channel, where every ship in the armada will accompany us on our honeymoon!"

Feliciano had come to talk to the Prince. He knew now that Ludwig would never break his promises, and so he knew that the moment Ludwig got the letter that Feliciano had written he would come back instantly. His ship had been parked just a short distance from the edge of the fire swamp, so the four fastest ships in the Prince's fleet should have encountered it with a day. The lack of response did not worry Feliciano about Ludwig's loyalty so much as it infuriated him as to the Prince's schemes.

"Every ship but your four fastest, you mean," Feliciano said casually, and felt his heart twist at the blank look he received. "Every ship but the four you sent."

Realization dawned too late. "Yes. Yes, of course! Naturally not those four."

Berkant, leader of the guard, knew that a potentially explosive confrontation was coming and wanted to get far, far away from it as quickly as he could, and he left the room while being as unobtrusive as possible.

"You never sent the ships," Feliciano stated. "Don't lie to me, I know you didn't! It doesn't matter. Ludwig will come back, I don't care what you think!"

The Prince sneered. "You're a silly boy."

Feliciano had been called silly all his life. Honestly, he had never minded. "Yes. I am a silly boy, because I didn't see that you are a coward!"

The Prince glared, sheathing the dagger he had in his hand, and Feliciano flinched back reflexively. "You would be wise to hold your tongue."

"Why bother? You can't hurt me." Feliciano had been called silly, foolish, idiotic. Never had he been called brave, not even by his grandfather, who thought the world of him. He had never felt brave, either, but if what he felt now was not bravery then he didn't know what was. "Ludwig loves me. I love Ludwig. We are joined together by our love, and you can't track that, not now and not ever! You can't break it, either. And I do not think I meant it when I called you a coward, because even cowards are better than you. You are the slimiest weakling ever to crawl the earth!"

Feliciano had never seen a man get so angry before.

"_You would be wise to hold your tongue!"_

* * *

Gilbert hadn't been given any other chores to do around the Pit, and the Count was otherwise occupied with taking notes, so he had taken the opportunity to stand at his brother's side, whispering softly in German as he wiped the sweat from his brother's face.

"_Du bist sicher, Ludva_," he murmured in a tone too low for the Count to hear at his desk. "_Wir werden bald verlassen. Tut mir leid, Ludva, tut mir leid..._"

There was a bang as the hidden entrance to the Pit was shoved open, and the Prince came storming down the stairs in a fury. Gilbert ducked out of the way just in time to avoid a kick to the ribs, though his feet got twisted in the chains around his ankles and he rolled to the ground.

"You love each other, and you might have been happy!" the Prince spat into Ludwig's unconscious face. "Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the storybooks say, so no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you!"

And he wrenched the lever of The Machine to **50**.

Gilbert might have cried out, but if he did, the sound was drowned by Ludwig's screams.

* * *

Antonio was now dry and sober, and so he and Ivan had set off toward Florin City to find the man in black. The Spaniard was running full out, ducking around passerby, whereas Ivan was only walking (Antonio had to take two footsteps to every one of Ivan's) at a brisk pace, but they both slowed when a terrible, bloodcurdling scream echoed across the hills.

"Ivan," Antonio whispered. "_Escucha_. Do you hear? That is the sound my heart made when the Count killed my father and brother, the sound of ultimate suffering. The man in black now makes the same sound."

"How do you know is him?"

"_Ivan_, tonight his true love marries another." Antonio sounded exasperated. "Who else would it be?"

Ivan knew little of love, his life having a severe want of it, but he remembered the day he had left his sisters in the hopes that one day he could come back and rescue them, and thought he understood.

They tried to keep moving forward, following the noise (it was coming from a forest close to the city), but they had to pass through a village to get there. It was market day, and the roads were thick with people moving about, shouting and talking and bartering to one another.

"We will never get there in time! Ivan, please."

The giant had been smiling at the idea of finding the masked man – if they stopped the wedding, then Antonio could kill the Count and they could help the man who had freed them from Vizzini. His posture did not change, and neither did his smile, but a rather unnerving aura seemed to ooze out from him, and the crowd was quick to part.

"_Gracias, mi amigo._"

"_Pozhaluysta._"

* * *

His brother was dead.

His brother was dead.

His brother was _dead_.

"Grandpa, Grandpa, wait."

* * *

Grandpa looked at Peter curiously, and the young boy struggled to put his thoughts into proper words.

"What did Ivan mean, that Ludwig's _dead_. He didn't _mean _it, right? Ludwig's gotta be faking."

"Peter, do you want me to read this or not?"

"But who gets the Prince?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Who kills Prince Adnan? He's evil, _someone's _gotta do it. Is it Antonio?"

"No one kills him," Grandpa said in a matter-of-fact tone. "He lives all the way through to the end."

"So he wins?!" No. No, that _couldn't _be right. "Why are you reading me a book where the bad guy _wins_?"

Outside Peter's bedroom, Tino and Berwald were once again listening in amusement to Arthur and their son bicker.

"How many people do you think our dining room can hold?" Tino asked.

Berwald's expression didn't change, it rarely did, but he felt decidedly concerned. "...Not sure. 'S big, though."

"Well, if we _did _invite the family over, that would be your two brothers and my brother on our side of the family, and then Francis and Matthew and Alfred, and- oh, don't they have cousins, too?"

He really _did _want to invite the extended family over. Maybe Berwald should invest in a fire extinguisher or three.

* * *

Gilbert stopped pushing the wheelbarrow for a moment to stare blankly at nothing. His brother was... dead.

He had never seen anyone that the Count brought into the Pit survive The Machine at a level higher than four, and that had been a dubious definition of survival. The man had remained unconscious for three days afterward before dying, but it hadn't killed him outright, so _technically _he had survived.

Fifty? Level _fifty _on The Machine?

Gilbert felt his stomach turn at the thought, but he had spent the last two hours throwing up what little food he had eaten in the past few days, and only tasted bile in his throat.

Trying to breathe, he picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow once more and started to move forward, only to freeze as a blade appeared to press against his neck.

"Where is the man in black?" a voice asked. Male. Spanish accent.

Man in black?

Ludva.

"You get to him from this grove, yes? I know you do! Ivan, jog his memory!"

Gilbert ducked away from both the sword and the massive fist that came flying down at his head, tripped over his chains yet again, and scuttled backward away from the two men as quickly as he could. He could see them now that he had turned around, a man with dark brown hair (the Spaniard, certainly) and a pale giant (Ivan, the owner of the fist).

"He's my brother!" he cried as the giant took a step closer. "The man you're looking for, he was _my brother_." The giant stopped. The Spaniard frowned. "And I don't know who you are, but you're too late. The Count- my brother is _dead_." His voice trailed off into a rasp, and he spat out the last word.

Now the Spaniard looked deeply concerned. The giant's smile dimmed, disappeared, and then before Gilbert could try to move, the giant reached down and crushed the chains around his ankles and pulled him to his feet.

Gilbert wobbled.

"I can show you how to get in, if you want proof." Gilbert looked down at his dirty figure, gnarled feet, bloody ankles. He was _free_.

If only he had been free sooner.

Ludwig was dead. What about his grandfather? Was Opa still alive, or had Gilbert wasted away slowly while the only two people he cared for died alone?

"Then I'm taking my brother and giving him a proper funeral."

* * *

The entrance to the Pit was inside of a hollowed-out tree, and the door was opened by pressing a knot in the bark. Gilbert abandoned the wheelbarrow outside in the clearing and led the way, hands clenched at his sides to hide that they were shaking.

He didn't trust himself to speak and jabbed a finger in the direction of The Machine, and the two hurried over.

"He dead," Ivan confirmed.

Antonio huffed. "Carriedos have never taken defeat easily!" he declared, much too cheerfully for the situation, and turned to Gilbert. "My friend, I know a pair of miracle men."

Gilbert scoffed. "Didn't you hear me? He's _dead_."

"And I know someone who works miracles! My friend- wait, tell me your name!"

"...It's Gilbert."

"Gilbert, your brother's true love will marry another tonight if we do not try." Gilbert reeled. _True_\- "No harm will come to your brother if we take him to the miracle men, _si_? If they fail, nothing changes. If they succeed, your brother lives."

He wanted to go home. He was tired and bitter and hadn't showered in years, his brother was dead and his grandfather probably was too. Did he even have a home anymore?

"Come, my friend!" Antonio clapped him on the shoulder. "All will be well. Ivan, take his body!"

* * *

"Go away!" came the sharp reply when Antonio knocked on the door to a thatched hut. "I said, go away!"

Antonio stopped knocking. Gilbert let out a sharp breath through his nose and slammed his fist against the door a few times. There was a very long pause, then the door cracked open. A pair of green eyes peered out from behind a fringe of brown hair, but that was all any of them could see.

"Are you the miracle man who worked for the King?" Antonio asked quickly.

The eyes narrowed. "Yes. The King's son fired me. Thank you for bringing up a painful subject. We're closed." He tried to shut the door. Ivan stuck his foot forward and the door stopped. "I'll call the brute squad if you don't leave," he stated.

"I'm on the brute squad," Ivan pointed out, not moving his foot.

"We need a miracle," Gilbert cut in. "You're a miracle man."

"I was fired. What if I kill whoever you want me to miracle?"

Gilbert's lips thinned. Antonio glanced at him briefly before looking back at the miracle man. "He's already dead. We'd like to fix that."

"Hm." The man blinked a few times, then shrugged slowly and opened the door.

The house was small, more of a hut than a house, though there appeared to be multiple rooms. It was cozy, too, full of cats and a single dog-like creature in the corner (Gilbert wasn't sure what it was, but it definitely _wasn't _a dog). There were herbs hanging from the ceiling, shelves and a sink crammed into the far back of the room, and a large table taking up most of the floor. A little door lead off to places unknown.

Ivan gently put Ludwig down on the table. Gilbert sat down in a chair and crossed his arms. Antonio looked nervously at the miracle man.

"I am Heracles," the miracle man said slowly, picking up Ludwig's hand and letting it fall limply down to the table. "Hm."

"We're in a hurry," Antonio urged.

"Sh. Rush a miracle man and you get bad miracles. What can you pay?"

"Sixty-five," Ivan said.

Heracles made a face. "I never work for so little. Only once, but it was a noble."

"This is noble!" the Spaniard declared. "His wife is crippled. His children are starving."

"You can't lie."

"I need him to help avenge my brother and father, dead for twenty years!"

"The first one was better."

"He's my brother," Gilbert spat. "I was held captive by one of the Prince's men and watched him die."

"The first one was better," Heracles repeated, slowly shaking his head, and reaching under the table to pull out a bellow cram. "He owes you money, doesn't he?"

"You-"

Ivan put a hand on Gilbert's head and forced him to sit back down. The albino fumed.

"...What are you doing?" Antonio asked dubiously.

"It's how you talk to those mostly dead people." Heracles put the bellows into Ludwig's mouth to pump air into his lungs. Even Ivan was frowning in confusion. "Mostly dead is somewhat alive, hm?" Removing the bellows, he slowly (the three were noticing that Heracles did everything slowly, lethargically, like he had either just woken up or was on the verge of falling asleep) leaned over to talk in Ludwig's ear. "Hello! Hello in there! What's so important? Why do you need to live?"

Then in dropped a fist onto Ludwig's chest, expelling all the air in a whoosh. "_Truuelove._" The words were quiet and hoarse and not really Ludwig's voice, but they came from Ludwig's mouth and Gilbert felt his heart leap up into his throat.

"See!" he snapped at the miracle man. "True love. Noble. Save him."

Heracles looked at him, rather unimpressed. "True Love is the greatest thing in the world, except for eating a sandwich in the shade of a tree surrounded by cats. But he said 'to blave,' and to blave means to bluff, so you most likely cheated at cards."

A pot smashed on the wall, very close to Heracles' head, and the group was suddenly reminded that Antonio said he knew of miracle _men_, in the plural. A short little fellow was in the corner, green eyes like Heracles, but his skin was darker and he was decidedly shorter and he wore a white cloth on his head.

"Liar," he said bluntly and crossed his arms.

Heracles huffed. "Get away, you."

The second miracle man threw another pot at Heracles, causing him to duck. "True Love," he stated, like that explained everything (and in a way, it sort of did).

"Oh, be quiet, Gupta," Heracles muttered.

Gupta glanced over at the group, who was now somewhat confused and a little bit scared. "Prince Sadiq Adnan fired him. No confidence."

"Why did you say his name? You swore you would never say that name!" Heracles cried.

It was like a switch had been flipped. Gupta had seemed mildly annoyed before, though his face had been eerily blank and he had hardly said a word. Now, though, he raised an eyebrow slowly, and got a glint in his eye.

"Sadiq Adnan?" he asked, and Heracles puffed up in anger.

"No!"

"Sadiq Adnan."

"I'm not listening!"

"Sadiq Adnan."

"No!"

Gilbert pulled his feet up onto his chair to avoid getting trod on, and Antonio and Ivan pressed themselves against the wall. Heracles had clapped his hands over his ears and was hurrying away from Gupta as quickly as he could. The second miracle man followed at a more sedate pace, repeating the Prince's name over and over, much to the distress of the other.

"This is Feliciano's True Love!" Antonio tried, hoping this, if anything, might convince the two to help. "If you heal this man, he will stop the Prince's wedding."

Gupta didn't precisely smile, but his lips curved ever so slightly. Heracles lowered his hands from his ears. "I make him better, and the Prince suffers?"

"_Yes_," Antonio, Gilbert, and Ivan said forcefully.

"Well, that's a noble cause if I've ever heard one! Give me that sixty-five, I'll do it."

They had a chocolate-covered pill within the hour. Gilbert had been given a pair of soft moccasins for his feet, and Ivan was carrying Ludwig in one arm like a doll.

"The chocolate makes it go down easier," Heracles explained as Gupta wrapped the pill in a scrap of linen, tied it, and handed it to Antonio. "Wait fifteen minutes for full potency."

"Don't swim," Gupta murmured in addition.

"Mm, no swimming for an hour."

"_Muchas gracias, mis amigos_," Antonio said gratefully as they headed out the door.

"Have fun storming the castle!" Heracles replied cheerfully.

They set off. When Gilbert glanced over his shoulder, Gupta was sweeping the front step, and Heracles had fallen asleep in his chair.

They had a wedding to crash.


End file.
